“Making my bed, eh?” Heavy steps entered the room. “Now that’s a first.”
He approached while she kept her head turned, busying herself by tucking sheets and fluffing pillows.
“Sam, is it?” he asked with suspicion. “Or are you Jack?”
She froze.
“Or is it Charles, perhaps?” He caught her tight about the waist, swinging her around to face him, the look on his face pure delight. “Oh you are priceless, Miss Merrinan, dressed as a boy, my, my.”
She felt her face stain red.
“Thisisan interesting twist on things, one I rather like. Let me look at you.” He turned her around. “Is this how you were planning to escape me?” Wellesley grinned. “Not a bad plan, my dear. Trouble is, you are decidedly too shapely for a boy, and your hair altogether too resplendent.” He yanked off her kerchief and unspooled her bun with a tug, his eyes approving her cascading locks.
“Decidedly too loose on you, my clothes”—his hands began to appraise—“but I picked up needle and thread for you this morning, so you may take them in a bit.” He cupped her backside. “Especially my old breeches. I think the tighter thebetter for your figure, Charles. You should turn them more into pantaloons.”
She glared at him for making light of her garb and her situation. “I asked you to bring me bolts of cloth, my lord, not just needle and thread.”
“You did.” He pushed her onto the bed to begin undoing the belt she’d only just notched at her waist, then swiftly unbuttoned her waistcoat—hiscoat, rather. “Only I was quite unable to choose fabric. I’d no idea where to start. Cuthbert will fetch what you need when next he’s in town.”
She lay there stunned as he continued to talk while undressing her, slipping off the coat and unknotting the rope at her—his—breeches next.
“And I must thank you for the advice regarding Mr. Adams, Charles. After mentioning your name he agreed to start in straight away.” The back of his hand gently traced her cheek as he looked down at her, tenderly almost. “Did you bake more bread as I instructed?” His hand dipped to her neckline.
“Yes, my lord,” she barely got out.
“Good.” His finger fell to the top of her stays through her shirt. “I think I like you bestundressed, Charles, though you may beg to differ.” His other hand slipped inside her breeches. “Or perhaps you won’t.”
She was mortified he’d found her again responsive.
“Tell me what you’d like me to do next, miss,” he whispered at her ear, his hand beginning to caress her sex. “I promise to accommodate your wishes.”
She let out a small gasp, her body arching as he increased pressure, his tongue tracing a line down her bared throat.
“Tell me or I’ll stop.”
“Don’t . . .” she tried.
“Don’t stop?”
“Don’ttortureme so.” Her breath came in short little gulps.
“Is that what this is, Charles?” His hand teased further. “Torture?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“My dear,” he chuckled, “you’ve no idea what torture is.” And he kissed her so that a moan escaped her throat, his body pressed so hard atop her own she felt his sex through his clothes, wanting her, and she him.
Only she hated herself for it.
***
A loud knock at the door made Wellesley’s body tense. “If I am interrupted one more time . . .” He gritted his teeth, calling loudly, “What?” as his hands upon his mistress stilled.
“Dinner, Yer Grace,” Cuthbert hollered from hallway.
“Go away!” Wells thundered.
“I did knock this time, sir.”
